There Is No Song In My Heart
by Kuneko
Summary: Lumina's parentage has been one of the Valley's most well-kept secrets for as long as anyone could remember. Now a young adult, she seeks the truth, and she just may find the answers to this burning secret closer to home than she thought.
1. Prologue & Ch 1: The Pumpkin Festival

There Is No Song In My Heart

**/Author's Note:** Hello there! I'd welcome you to my new fanfiction, but this is only… half-new. This is in fact a reboot of one of my older HM fanfics; one you might remember was called _'So Close To You'. _

That story barely took off, so don't fret if you haven't read it – I never got past the first chapter. Then, one day recently, I was in the mood to write something a bit darker than I usually do, so I _revisited So Close To You_ and considered continuing it – but then I remembered why I stopped in the first place: it was extremely poorly planned out _and I had no idea what the plot was anymore_. I had completely forgotten! So instead, I decided to take the basic premise, reboot it, write out the backstory a little more thoroughly, then give it another go, and this is the result.

This fic stars Lumina, and takes place mostly in Forget-Me-Not Valley. It is not going to be of epic length, but it will be multiple chapters and will take place over the span of multiple years.

It is largely based on _DS_, but as that game is largely based on _A Wonderful Life_, you can expect just as much to be taken from there. Expect this story to serve as my take on who the Witch Princess is, what she's doing locked in Romana's shed, and why she became a witch. And finally, expect this fic to be significantly more serious than my other stuff.

BUT, that's not to say it won't be fun. There's a lot I want to do with this fic, and I'd be honored to have you guys along for the ride. **End Author's Note/**

- Prologue -

The Final Rite of passage was upon her. In mere moments, the ritual would be complete, and one more soul would be indoctrinated into the world of the occult. The last rite was, in many ways, the most painful, and the one that many tenderfeet balked at, turning on their heels at the very last minute.

"Step forward, Mistral."

The one named Mistral did as she was told. Her hair, normally a sleek straw-colored sheet, rippled in the wind like currents running through a normally still river. She felt the unified gaze of the people surrounding her as if it, itself, was a gust of autumnal wind. Though their faces were hidden under shadowy cloaks, their collective gaze was no less piercing. She didn't let it break her look of utmost determination.

"Bring forth that which aids in the shedding of one's life of banality, that which severs earthly ties and spurns the mundane," the same voice commanded, shuddering slightly.

A shadowy figure stepped forward, but Mistral kept her eyes steady ahead of her. She gazed forward, over the small body of water she and her company faced. Though evidently devoid of life, something stirred in the pond before them – something not of this world. She saw an ornamental knife appear out of the corner of her eyes, being held by an outstretched arm.

"Bear the blade," the shuddering voice commanded again.

Mistral took it in her own clammy hands, steadying herself and taking a step towards the pond. She already knew what the last step entailed.

"Besmirch the Goddess' Pond before you. Rend the deific hold on your body!"

The purpose behind this particular rite was a simple one; to sully such a holy ground was nearing the epitome of blasphemy. Such an act of blasphemy was part of the ritual in order to spurn the Harvest Goddess and her dominance over the land, to both defy and defile her. In plainer terms, they were going to stick it to the Goddess.

The circle of bodies around the pond tightened, as if expecting the blonde in the center to make a run for it, like so many before her. This fear was unjustified, this time; Mistral had waited too long for this moment.

She took in a breath of the cool night air and steadied her shaking arm, raising it upwards with her palm outstretched. In her left hand she brandished the knife, its cold steel handle pressed into her skin.

In a swift flash of silver, a shallow cut appeared in the bare flesh of her outstretched arm. Before the cool October winds had a chance to sting, Mistral swiped again and another, shorter cut appeared on the end of the first one. The upside down cross now formed on her arm simply looked red at first, before beads of blood began to push their way through to the surface.

_'It is done.' _the young woman thought to herself, battling to keep her eyes from clenching in pain. She refused to blanch at the sight of her own blood; she had seen worse. Once the blood began to flow, she turned her arm over, and allowed the dark, ruddy liquid to run from her cold, shaking body into the water beneath her. As soon as the blood touched the surface of the pool, it seemed to fade into a crimson smoke beneath the pond's glistening surface. It may have just been her imagination, but Mistral could have sworn she heard a faint hiss issuing from the Goddess' Pond, as if the pristine water was tormented by its contact with the blood.

It seemed as if a collective breath was released once the deed had been done. They, and Mistral now knew, there was no turning back. The closest cloaked figure rushed forward, breaking the stillness of the scene, and began to wrap Mistral's arm in a tight bandage.

"You've done well," she mumbled, sounding evidently pleased, "It's been so long… and now, we can_ officially _welcome you."

One of the cloaked figures suddenly hobbled forward, peered over the side of the Goddess' Pond, and let out a mirthless laugh. The others followed, and soon the dark forest was filled with the cackles of the elderly women.

"Taste our blood, O Benevolent _Goddess_!" the hag had cackled, voice rife with sarcasm and a cruel tone of humor. Jeers and hoots followed, and the gaggle of cloaked women were reduced to juvenile infants in a moment, taking great pleasure in the symbolic sullying of the Goddess whom they so resented. Mistral joined in, though her laughter was strained and half-hearted, for the pain in her arm was, at the moment, outweighing her disdain for the Harvest Goddess.

Once the tumultuous laughter and jeering had quieted, the eldest of the women approached Mistral and the attention was once more on the young fledgling.

"You've done it, You're… one of us." Her voice shook, due in equal parts to the cold and to her own emotions.

"Not yet, not yet!" shrilled one of the women on Mistral's right, "Let her recite the pacts once more, Lady Gwennan."

Mistral had been expecting this, but it still took her a moment to find her voice.

"My witchcraft, both blessing and product of my earthly toil, remains a secret 'til death claims me. My allegiance, always to the High Witches of this circle, as I owe them my gift and my unwavering strength. My life, theirs to take should it be required for a higher purpose … or should a pact be broken." Mistral finished, her voice dwindling and her head feeling faint.

Her recitation was met with such heavy silence, she would have thought she had been struck deaf if not for the howling winds overhead. Though none of their faces were visible, she could feel the hardness of their expressions, and Mistral knew at once she had made a mistake – she could have slapped herself, had her arm not been in searing pain.

"You forgot one," said the witch whose voice was previously shrill, now a deadly whisper, "Before the Pact of Life."

She could tell at once by the tension in the circle that the witches were taking this hiccup to be some form of omen – the superstition of a witch knew no bounds, after all – but Mistral was simply tired and in pain. Struggling to speak again, she recited the first two pacts once more, and before continuing on to the last, corrected her mistake: "…My blood, not to be passed on through copulation, the ultimate purpose of a woman rejected for the sake of the arcane."

Again, she felt the urge to slap herself. This pact – the one not to sire any children – was of utmost importance to the witches. A witch forced through rituals and pacts and oaths was guaranteed to be under the control of the Circle of Witches, her power always kept in check by the various High Witches – but an outlier, a girl born with magical powers, would not be bound by the same pacts that regulated witchcraft, and would be free to wreak havoc. Not that the witches minded havoc, of course, but chaos within their own Circle could be deadly; their minds and hearts must act as one for such powers to be properly put to use.

The eldest woman, the one named Lady Gwennan, stepped forward, sufficiently pleased with Mistral's correction. She finally lowered her hood, her withered face illuminated by what little moonlight made it through the canopy of leaves overhead. Mistral saw her look into her eyes and recognize pain, and she knew that Lady Gwennan had come to the right conclusion – that the mistake was only made on account of Mistral's intense pain.

"Your powers have accepted you. Touch your arm, young Witchling."

Mistral did as was told, and as soon as her fingers touched the spot where the cut had been made, she instantly felt more awake. Her vision and clarity of mind returned to her in an instant. The bandage unraveled at her touch and fell unceremoniously to the earthy ground, and to her astonishment – and subsequent elation – the wound was gone, or at least sealed up, as if it had been made years ago and now only left a faint scar.

Mistral looked at her own fingertips with dawning realization. _She_ had done this.

"Then," said Lady Gwennan, pleased that all had passed successfully, "The ritual is complete. On this day, the 31st of Fall, I welcome into our ranks, into our Circle of Witches… Young Mistral Wyndham."

- Chapter 1 -

The Pumpkin Festival

_As autumn's rosy face bleeds through th'land_

_And chills and winds we doth withstand,_

_Th' line, it blurs, and when it does_

_We find 'round us, the air's abuzz_

_The sound of chariots fills th'night,_

_And here 'rrive the spirits, O frightful sight!"_

The children laughed and ran around the Villa's square, circling the large fountain at its center. The typical noise of a social gathering was punctuated by the singing of Gustafa, the local minstrel, of sorts. The night was a cold one, and many of the villagers were draped in shawls or scarves, but just as many wore a smile on their face. The children, and some of the younger-spirited adults, danced and ran around the square in their fanciful costumes. It was, as it was known to the world at large, Hallowe'en Night, but to the village of Forget-Me-Not Valley, it was simply known as 'The Pumpkin Festival'.

True to its name, pumpkins (and their close siblings, Jack-o-Lanterns), littered the courtyard, shedding their ominous light and filling the town with that their unmistakable raw smell.

"Always found it a rather grizzly tradition, I'll admit; cutting something open from the top of its head, scooping out its innards, then carving some twisted face into its exterior," chuckled the Villa's butler, Sebastian, good-naturedly. He was tall and lanky, and wore several argyle sweaters over each other to buffet the cold. His long face was almost always in a kindly smile, especially when talking to the young Lady Lumina, possibly his favourite person in the Valley.

"Oh hush, you don't need to spin such a morbid twist on a children's activity!" Lumina found she was laughing in spite of herself, "Besides, weren't you the one who helped Hugh with his Jack-o-Lantern?"

"You mean the one he wanted to model after his father, Wally?" Sebastian grinned knowingly, "It was in that very moment, when I was scooping out the insides of Wally's, head, that this morbid thought occurred to me."

The pair laughed all the more.

"Now then, a few of those Jack-o-Lanterns need their candles re-lit. If you'll excuse me, young miss, I must now go spend my time wrist-deep in uncooked, orangey flesh."

With a slight bow, as was his nature, Sebastian headed back towards the large manor to find a matchbox, and the girl with whom he spoke gave him a smile and a courteous nod.

Lumina, in her usual tartan dress, stood with her arms around her, hugging herself in an attempt to stay warm. Her chestnut hair, only slightly past her ears in length, was bound by her favourite yellow hair band, as it always was. She had not dressed up for the occasion, and no one had expected her to – she was now a young woman of twenty-one (but had established herself as an intelligent, well-mannered individual even in her youth, regardless of age). The manor in front of her was her home, owned by her elderly Great-Aunt Romana. The Valley had been her home since birth, and Romana and Sebastian her family.

The reason she had grown up in this opulent mansion on a hill overlooking a small country village was, as some might put it, tragic: her mother had died during childbirth, and her father, according to Romana, had left her at the mansion with her nearest relative and taken off without a second glance.

It was sad, to be sure, but Lumina found it hard to miss parents she had never known. She had seen pictures of her mother – an unconventionally beautiful woman with a mischievous face and sleek, straw-colored hair – but all of them were, curiously, pictures taken in her mother's youth; any picture of her mother past her teenage years seemed simply non-existent. There was the possibility that her mother had had her while in her youth – a possibility Lumina hadn't ruled out – but she still couldn't conjure up a mental picture of what she would have looked like today; that mischievous spark in her eyes was impossible to imagine on the face of an older woman. Still, aside from a curiosity so strong it almost ached, Lumina wasn't too phased by her lack of parents. The close-knit community of Forget-Me-Not was family enough.

Lumina walked over to the fountain in the center of her manor's courtyard and sat down, idly noticing just how many soggy leaves of various hues of red were floating about. Hugh and Kate, the village's only two children, raced around the fountain being chased by Popuri, a girl of about Lumina's age – though none would have guessed it, as she was still a child at heart and the years had been so gracious as to preserve her innocent teenage looks. Far too engaged in her game with the children to notice Lumina, the girl's vivid pink curls whirled around her as she turned herself mid-chase to run at the children from the other side.

Sighing contentedly, Lumina waved at another individual standing by himself on the other side of the square. Griffin, the barkeeper of the Valley's unique tavern, the Blue Bar, walked over, the front half of his hair jutting out like a pompadour and the back half tied in messy pony tail. A man in his mid-fourties, Griffin was a quiet and gentle villager, and one whom Lumina felt she could relate with on a level she couldn't with most others: apart from herself and Gustafa, Griffin was one of the town's only musicians. He would often reject such a term, however, for he was humble and didn't think strumming his guitar at the bar was considered musicianship, but Lumina needed only to speak with him a few times to know he had in him the soul of a musician, and it was this which drew her to him.

"You should have brought your guitar!" Lumina said amicably, "Festivals and music go hand-in-hand."

"Gustafa seems to got it covered," Griffin said meekly, and he was right; Gustafa sat against the other side of the fountain, strumming away and singing jovially, much to the children's delight. This was unlikely to be the real reason why Griffin didn't bring his instrument, Lumina noted. Playing in front of an audience didn't quite suit him. "Is he wearing a leprechaun costume…?"

"I think that's just his normal attire, Griffin." Lumina defied her mouth's inclination to curve into a smile.

Taking a seat next to her on the edge of the cold, stone fountain, Griffin stretched his legs and asked, "How about you? No jaunty Halloween melodies for the kids?"

"A few, but good luck to the soul that tries to get them to sit inside for a piano recital!" she grinned.

"Y'got a point." He laughed gruffly. "Say…" Griffin started, "Speaking of which, have you heard back from them yet?"

Lumina said nothing, her eyes momentarily glazed over as she watched the children, who had stopped running and were now speaking animatedly to one another, likely deciding the next game to play.

"The, uh, what're they called…? The Grace Orchestra?" Griffin pressed on, but needlessly so; Lumina had heard him the first time.

Realizing her silence would not be answer enough, she sighed softly, "No." Griffin opened his mouth to speak but Lumina quickly continued, "Not that I'll stop trying, of course. I'll make a few more trips to the city, especially as the holiday season begins to set in… They generally need more members around then anyway."

"Chin up, kiddo," her male companion said in his soft voice, "You've got talent and you've got your youth, you're a stone's throw away from making it big, if y'ask me."

Lumina smiled. "If only they would ask you. Maybe I should take you along for my next audition!" She half-joked, earning her a chuckle from the older man.

A pleasant silence fell over the two, and Griffin looked out over the hill thoughtfully. The dark sky was made only darker by the thick ceiling of clouds overhead, and barely a star could be seen.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lumina saw something that made her stir. She excused herself and got to her feet, Griffin watching her with mild curiosity.

"Oh, for Goddess' sake, they know better than to play around there – I'd better warn them before Aunty –" Lumina's self-addressed muttering ended abruptly as the Manor's doors swung open and her great-aunt, Romana, walked out bristly, exhibiting her unusual sixth sense for misbehavior. "…Well, they're in for it now," she finished grimly.

Hugh, Kate, and Popuri had abandoned their lively game for some exploring, it seemed, and were now inspecting the old garden shed that stood to the side of the manor, clearly expecting Romana to still be inside. Romana, together with her ornate walking stick, advanced on them like a three-legged lion stalking back to find its den full of gazelles. She was a remarkably tiny old woman – she only really came up to Lumina's chest, and even that was on account of her towering hair, white as snow. She was hunched over and her legs were stiff, but nothing deterred her when there were rules to be imposed and miscreants to discipline. Lumina's caretaker was a harsh disciplinarian, as many of the village children had learned the hard way.

"Away from the shed!" she barked, her voice somehow as loud and clear as always despite the scarf wrapped around her mouth, making the three of them jump, "Haven't I told you children a million times? Haven't I?" she struck Hugh's foot with her cane and just barely missed as he jerked it out of the way. Instead wheeling on Popuri, she grabbed the young woman by a handful of her rosy hair and pulled her face down to be level with her own. "And you! Shouldn't you know better? You're a young lady, now start acting like it!"

Popuri only gave a frightened nod.

It was true that if there was one rule Romana had bore into Lumina's head, and every other child in the area, it was to not approach her garden shed. She never said why, inviting theories that were (probably) wilder than the truth: some said she was a mass murderer who needed somewhere to hide the corpses, others said it lead to an underground mine where she enslaved Harvest Sprites. What Lumina had heard, through the means of Sebastian, was that her Aunty kept a reserve of bottled wines in there, using the otherwise useless shed as an improvised wine cellar. She apparently had some sort of cooling mechanism installed, which explained why the windows were constantly fogged up. Sebastian had simply said that a wine cellar was "no place for children to be running around in", and left it at that. It was a sound enough argument.

Romana said: "You've got the whole bloody Valley to run around, you don't need to go poking your snotty little noses into my things!" and the children scattered, removing themselves from the range of Romana's cane.

Lumina shook her head slightly, knowing her Aunty would be in a foul mood for the remainder of the festival. She had been a kind – if not firm – guardian to Lumina throughout the entirety of her life, and was a gracious and charitable citizen of the Valley, but nothing got her going quite like a good rule-breaking occurring right under her (slightly prominent) nose.

"Really, the children these days," Romana grumbled to her great-niece, "At least you knew better when you were their age. I swear, every generation brings our species closer to extinction by foolhardiness…"

"Well," Lumina tartly echoed Sebastian's words, "A wine cellar is no place for children to be running around in."

"I'm glad you realized that, my dear. It's encouraging to know that children still bear the capacity to learn."

The younger woman knew by this point to take everything her great-aunt said with a pinch of salt. There was not much to gain by arguing with an old, obstinate woman set in her traditional values. Adults were to be in charge, children were to be seen and not heard, and most certainly not to be seen around wine. Whether it was a lie or not, concealing what was truly in their shed, Lumina thought it a fairly clever one; no one would question why Romana wanted to keep children away from a veritable vault of alcohol. It had certainly kept Lumina away as a child, with the notion that no children should be near alcohol until they were of age, a notion ingrained in society.

Then, however, Lumina noticed something.

_ 'I… am of age,'_ she thought slowly. Not that she had any _intention _to intoxicate herself on a supply of no-doubt ancient wine… But if there truly was something hidden in that shed, Romana's excuse no longer held any weight over the twenty-one year old Lumina.

The wind howled overhead, right as Gustafa launched into the next verse of his song, carrying on about the spirits and the specters said to be visiting them on that night. Pulling her shawl around her, Lumina came to the sobering realization that she was being silly; nothing was being kept in that shed, and her Great-Aunt was being her usual, vindictive self in attempting to keep the children out.

The Hallowe'en night air was simply getting to her head.


	2. Chapter 2: Unanswered

- Chapter 2 -

Unanswered

The colder half of autumn had settled in after the festivities of the Pumpkin Festival. Going by the Agricultural Calendar that the farming community of Forget-Me-Not followed, it was now technically 'Winter 1st', but to the rest of the world it was only November. Forget-Me-Not relied almost entirely on its two large farms: one belonged to the family of Vesta, a boisterous woman who employed her niece, Celia, and a farmhand, Marlin – both a few years older than Lumina. The other was owned by a relatively new farmer; the son of the man who had owned the farm years ago, before it had fallen into disrepair. He had only moved to the valley a few months ago, and Lumina couldn't for the life of her remember what his name was. They hadn't crossed paths much.

The town's economy revolved almost entirely around these two plots of land, separated by only a thin stream. While Forget-Me-Not managed to be self-sufficient for the most part, trade was often done between it and the slightly larger neighbouring community, Mineral Town. Just on the other side of the valley, Mineral Town was close enough to walk to, if one was up to spending a few hours on their feet. The 'Townies' came down every so often – such as the pink-haired Popuri, who had come to celebrate the Pumpkin Festival last Friday.

Lumina's favourite effect of being so close to the other town was the weekly visits from her best friend, Mary Brunell. She managed to be quiet, timid, intelligent and immensely imaginative all at once, and was everything Lumina had needed in a companion. Her father was a botanist, and together they had opened a library in Mineral Town – Lumina had visited it more than once, and ached for the day that the Valley might have the funds or resources to open up a similar establishment. She and Mary often discussed such a fantasy, and Lumina had mentally decided to pursue this dream if her current one of joining the Grace Orchestra petered through, a prospect that was becoming dangerously more likely as the days went by.

The Sunday morning after the festival, Lumina gingerly stepped outside, still in her night gown and slippers, and launched her hand into the golden mailbox hanging off the Villa's exterior. It was completely empty. She let out a sigh and a visible puff of air escaped her mouth, an apparition Lumina would have to get used to seeing again for the next however-many-months winter decided to last.

"Young Miss…?" came the voice of Sebastian from the doorway, wide awake despite the hour.

Jumping back, the young Lumina's hand shot out of the mailbox, the metallic flap banging shut and catching her fingers in it. Nursing throbbing fingers, she said: "Oh, Sebastian… You startled me."

"There is no mail on Sundays, Miss."

He was right, of course, and Lumina felt momentarily foolish. Saying nothing, she stepped back into the manor and closed the door.

Treading towards the kitchen, Sebastian asked, "Shall I fix you some of your favourite Relaxation Tea?" The unimaginatively-named beverage was just what Lumina needed: nothing burned away stress and anxiety quite like a hot cup of tea.

_'There's no need to feel dismayed,'_ she told herself with unconvincing determination,_ 'This doesn't count as another day without an acceptance letter! It's Sunday, there wouldn't have been a letter anyway – today's a stalemate. Anything can happen tomorrow.' _

She entered the kitchen and brought all the morning's gloom in with her.

Sebastian put a cup in front of Lumina and took a guess at her feelings: "You mustn't spend all your time fretting about the Grace Orchestra, Young Miss."

Lumina tried to give a non-committal shrug, as if this was hardly the cause for her sour disposition, but even she didn't believe it and could see that Sebastian didn't either.

"You need only keep your spirits up and know you'll succeed soon enough. Impatience never got anyone anywhere. You've all the time in the world; Don't let your Aunty make you believe otherwise, either." He added with a succinct nod. He had always been displeased with any of the instances in Lumina's upbringing in which Romana had been overly pushy (and there were many, many instances), but as a mere butler he bowed out of giving his employer any disciplinary tips.

"It's not Aunty's influence anymore," Lumina said truthfully, "It's my dream now." _Which means I only have myself to blame for failure._

He slid the sugar towards her, as if to silently tell her she would feel better after having some tea. He was most likely correct.

###

Later that afternoon, once the morning clouds had broken and bathed the Valley in pleasantly warm autumn sunlight (unfortunately accompanied by cutting winds), Lumina stepped out into the courtyard. Sebastian was out, cleaning up the decomposing pumpkins and other debris from the festival when he noticed the young lady approach him, holding open a garbage bag in which he could dispose of the mucky pumpkin currently in his gloved hands.

"Thank you," he gave her a hard smile – Sebastian never approved of Lumina helping out with his chores. He appreciated it, certainly, but this appreciation was mingled with shame that such a refined young lady should be doing the work of servants. Lumina, of course, constantly reassured him that she didn't mind a single bit, and even enjoyed some of the duties he had as housekeeper.

"What do you do with these pumpkins after the festival, anyway?" She asked with genuine curiosity.

"Oh, a variety of things. Sometimes I harvest the seeds to roast them – I know your Aunty loves those – Other times I give them to the wild animals, or to Sir Murray."

_'There he goes again,'_ Lumina suppressed a giggle, _'Incessantly polite to his own detriment.' _Murray was the unfortunate beggar who roamed the streets of Forget-Me-Not and knew very little in the ways of hygiene, personal space, and manners, but was somehow not only tolerated, but accepted as a citizen of the Valley by nearly everyone. Even he, to Sebastian, was worthy of a title.

"Lady Mary will be coming tomorrow," Sebastian said, with a knowing voice. Suddenly, the day seemed a lot less cold.

"That's true," Lumina glowed, "She'll be staying the whole day."

"How is her novel coming along?"

"She's written three chapters since we last met – and she's bringing them with her, for me to read!" Lumina so loved to follow the adventures her friend could pen so skillfully, and looked forward to their weekly meetings as a chance to continue where the story had left off. Mary was a fine speaker, but barely had the confidence to raise her voice above a murmur. The words she did not speak were made up for by the words that spilled out of her pen as it flew across pages and pages of notebooks; saying she was a prolific writer was an understatement.

Sebastian looked impressed and said, "She's got a fine mind, that one. It's no surprise that the two of you are thick as thieves."

"Oh, I don't know if I could just pick up a pen and bleed literary genius out onto paper the way she does," Lumina shook her head.

"Ah, well, your hands are used for another kind of genius, Young Miss. Don't sell yourself short." The butler nodded wisely, and continued handling the pumpkins.

"Can these hands be put to any use helping you out here?"

Deciding that if he could not stop the young Lumina from lending her aid, he would at least put it to use by giving her the slightly more appropriate task of tending to the gardens.

"I've left a wooden watering can by the front steps, fill it with the fountain water and sprinkle it on the flowers, young miss." He felt as he always did: uncertain about giving his superior orders. Lumina did not seem to mind or notice.

"I can do that," she replied.

The watering can was heavier when filled with the murky water of the fountain, and Lumina heaved it over to the gardens, ignoring the concerned eye Sebastian constantly had on her. She knew part of his concern stemmed from the doubts he had about her abilities – Lumina had a sharp mind, but her physical prowess left a lot to be desired – and the other part stemmed from how her Aunty Romana might react from witnessing a young lady of the Wyndham household doing manual labour. It had been beneath her grand-mother, beneath her mother, and beneath her, and she firmly believed it was beneath her great-niece as well, no matter how little Lumina seemed to mind the tasks.

It didn't mean much, in the end: she just had to put up with more tutting from the pair of them.

Lumina made the rounds, and soon found herself in front of the old garden shed again. She felt foolish, once again, for having suspected her Aunty of hiding something in there. There was no mistaking that it was an ordinary old garden shed, regardless of the whispers and rumours exchanged throughout the town. Tipping the heavy watering can over her Aunty's favourite jonquils, Lumina found her eyes straying to the shed, against her will.

It was an old building, but surprisingly large – easily the size of some of the smaller houses in the village, she realized wryly. She recalled the Winter, a few years ago, where Murray had attempted to break in and make a home of it, and Romana had given him such an earful he never dared to approach it again. Lumina recalled, with mild amusement, that Sebastian had offered to give 'Sir' Murray his bedroom for the night, only to Romana's chagrin: there would be absolutely no way, under any circumstance that Romana Wyndham would allow the derelict Murray to spend even one night under her roof.

_Such are the ways of the over-privileged, _she remarked wistfully.

There had to be more to the shed, Lumina decided. It may not have been as dramatic a secret as half the town expected, and her Aunty may fly off the handle at less significant things, but all rumours had a kernel of truth to them. Eyes still on the foggy windows of the shed, Lumina knew, at least for the sake of her own curiosity, that this kernel had to be unearthed.

And who better to mine for information than the keeper of these very grounds?

Realizing that in her reverie she had allowed the watering can to slip and she was now watering her own foot, Lumina briskly walked off in the other direction.

"Sebastian," Lumina approached the argyle-clad elder, "I'm finished!"

"Well done, Miss Lumina. Shall I head inside to fix your luncheon?" he asked cheerfully, having finished his own work.

"Actually, I was wondering if you would be interested in a drink." Lumina made a casual gesture to the shed, without being too obvious, hoping to extract something out of him if she could remain as conversational as possible.

Eyebrows raised and mouth bent in a frown, Sebastian asked, "A drink? Do you mean from the Blue Bar? I need not hesitate to tell you how detrimental drinking can be to one's mental and physical facilities, Young Miss, and the sun has barely begun to go down…"

Lumina instantly began to see how her plan would not be likely to work on the conservative Sebastian. She had gone twenty one years with barely a drop of alcohol touching her tongue, and she knew Sebastian was thinking the same thing. She improvised quickly: "Oh no, no. Not the Blue Bar – I simply meant a glass of wine, perhaps. You _know _me, Sebastian," she tried to sound mildly hurt as she said '_know', _trying another angle, "I wouldn't go out and get drunk and murder half my brain cells. I simply wanted to relax after working out in the sun with you."

Sebastian's mouth was no longer frowning, but he was chewing on his bottom lip subconsciously.

"You needn't even head inside, we can just grab a bottle from Aunty's storage shed—"

"No!" Sebastian said all too quickly, and Lumina was caught off-guard, "No, no, that's not necessary. Not that I _condone _this, but if you insist, I have a bottle in the kitchen that…" The butler trailed off, having noticed the change in Lumina's eyes at his refusal. Slowly, he began to fit the pieces together, and Lumina could tell her façade had failed. "You want to know what's in the shed, don't you?"

Lumina had the grace to look guilty, if only for a moment. "I'm not foolish, Sebastian, I'm not superstitious enough to believe some of the things the villagers say… But even if it is filled to the brim with wine, I don't think _anyone _gets as territorial about anything as my Aunty does about her shed." She said plainly.

"It's quite alright," he accepted her non-existent apology, "It's only natural you'd become curious. Your Aunty and I had a hard enough time answering your dozens of questions as a child – clearly there's still some of that childishness in you."

Lumina wore a blank expression, not quite sure how to take that.

"I mean that with the best of intentions, of course. No one should outgrow childhood curiosity, I think. Why stop asking questions in a world teeming with uncertainty?"

With a small sigh, he turned to the shed, then back at Lumina, and began to speak. "The _reason _your Aunty is so protective about her shed is rather simple, but I'm sure you'll understand why the topic isn't breached very often: Your great-uncle Duncan, when he was alive, amassed quite a sum of money with your great-aunt back in their hometown. He was a winemaker – together, they owned a vineyard, passed down through his family. Nearly your entire fortune came from the wild success of their vineyards."

Lumina paused. She had never known that – granted, she had known very little of her Great-Uncle Duncan, and now felt foolish for not having inquired before. This entire confrontation could have been avoided…

"Of course, in their retirement, they moved out here to Forget-Me-Not and essentially founded the village. It was a beautiful little hamlet for them to spend the rest of the years together. Needless to say, death claimed your great-uncle at an unfortunately early age, and the wine that Mistress Romana keeps in storage was the personal reserve of the loving couple. The topic's always been a sensitive one – I'm sure you can understand why – and the thought of anyone touching the last mementos she has of the man she loved drives Mistress Romana mad."

Sebastian finished the story and gave the shed a sad, calculating glance. Lumina did the same, over her shoulder.

"I'll get to fixing that luncheon, then. If you'd really like a glass of wine with that, I'd be happy to – "

"There'll be no need for that, Sebastian." Lumina said quietly, the tone of formality in her voice marking the end of the conversation.

Sebastian nodded curtly, and headed back to the front door, leaving Lumina to stand in the courtyard and gaze at the shed that made her great-aunt's heart ache in a way Lumina, in her short life, could not yet understand.

Once she heard the front doors open and close, Lumina turned around and looked back at her villa. Sebastian, for all his kindness and wisdom, was a poor actor; and Lumina had a terrible feeling that the tale she just heard had been impeccably rehearsed.


	3. Chapter 3: Mary

**/Author's Note: **The third chapter! Thanks for the reviews so far, I'm glad this story's getting some attention. Hopefully I'll keep you intrigued enough until we get to the real meat of the story, which we will be very soon :D Enjoy this chapter, and expect another one soon! **End Author's Note/**

- Chapter 3 -

Mary

It was a wet and drizzly morning that greeted Mary Brunell as she descended the sloping hill into Forget-Me-Not Valley. She carried an umbrella in one hand and a bag slung over her shoulder, rhythmically bumping into her side with every step she took. Struggling to keep her footing, Mary looked up at the sky hopelessly; it looked like it would rain throughout the day. The downpour had made the trail muddy and the slope slippery, and it had taken longer than usual to make the journey. The Valley was at least in sight now, and she could make out two figures standing at the base of the hill; the sight of them quickened her pace.

"Mary!" Lumina greeted jovially as soon as they were within earshot. She was standing with Sebastian, who held a tartan umbrella over her head and a plain black one over his own. Hands clasped together, she said, "I thought you'd never make it in this weather!"

The ebony-haired girl gave her a small smile and reminded her, "I've come to the Valley on worse days, Lumi." Lumina was about to apologize but Mary sensed it, as she sometimes did, and shook her head. "It's always worth it, anyway."

Sebastian smiled and offered to take her bag, and in Mary's attempt at removing it from her shoulder with her umbrella in hand, she slipped on the muddy ground and nearly fell. Lumina caught her just in time, grabbing her shoulders and steadying the girl.

"Oh, thank you!" Mary said breathlessly, fixing the glasses on the end of her red nose. Her snow-white face contrasted with the thick, plain, black hair that was tied in a low, clumsy braid somewhere down her backside. Mary still had a baby face, and she was a stocky, awkward looking girl for the most part. Her face was adorned with a pair of large, round glasses, dirty from the rain.

"Easy now. Let's get you back to the manor before you end up blind," Lumina said with a good-natured smile, rubbing some mud off of the girl's glasses before letting go of her.

Mary attempted to say something – a cross between 'Yes' and 'Thank you' – that came out as an awkward mumble, then nodded her head and followed.

The Village was hardly large enough to warrant having a car, and it certainly didn't have the accommodations for automobiles anyway: no roads, no gas stations, no parking lots. The most one might see around Forget-Me-Not Valley were travelers on horse-back, which was how, so many years ago, Sebastian and Mistress Romana had arrived. And so, the trio set off towards the opposite end of the village, Sebastian still holding an umbrella over Lumina's head, and now carrying Mary's bag over his shoulder, unphased.

"It's still such a novelty to see you walking down that hill alone!" Lumina remarked cheerfully. Since only about a year ago, Mary's weekly trips had been made under the supervision of her father, Basil Brunell. After turning nineteen last year, she finally managed to shake him off and, with some help from her haughty mother, convince him that he needed to be her father, not her guard-dog.

Shaking her weary head, Mary said, "That almost wasn't the case."

"Oh no, your father again?"

"Not quite…" Mary's expression turned sour, "You remember I told you about that boy back in Mineral Town, Gray?"

Lumina remembered: "The grumpy boy? Who skulked into the library the last time I was there, unaware that you had company, then got mad for no apparent reason, and left?"

Rubbing her temple with her free hand, Mary nodded, "That's the one."

"What did _he _want?"

"Oh, it was more of the same, really," Mary mumbled, then raised her voice to carry on the story, "He saw me heading to the Valley and was appalled - as if I _didn't _do this every week - that I was making the journey alone."

"Sounds like your Father!"

Mary nodded and continued, "I – I told him I didn't want to trouble him, and that I was perfectly capable of making it there on my own – Or at least, I tried to explain it to him, but he became his usual huffy self, and rounded on me, getting angry for – "

"No apparent reason?"

"…Mm." The dark-haired girl looked sadly into the puddles they marched through.

"It's no fault of your own, if that's what you're thinking," Lumina said matter-of-factly, "I'm sure he was worried about you but, being the brute he is, he couldn't –"

"- express his emotions properly." Mary finished for her quietly. The two girls had, as they often did, reached the same conclusion.

"Exactly. Now really, I don't see how any girl could possibly find that kind of rubbish endearing. Where's the allure in being yelled at by some snotty blacksmith?"

Mary said nothing, and Lumina thought she noticed – though it could have simply been brought out by their bleak, colourless surroundings – her cheeks get slightly pinker.

# # #

The rainy afternoon had called for some baking. The pair of girls had been hard at work in the kitchen, with Sebastian checking in occasionally to make sure nothing had gone awry- and so far, nothing had. Aside from splashes of white flour across the aprons and faces of the young women, the two had managed to competently make a batch of cookies, which were now baking slowly in the oven.

This left Lumina and Mary to sit at the dining table, talking and awaiting their first batch of cookies to finish. Each had a metal beater in hand from the electric mixer, enjoying the cookie dough still stuck to their ends like a lollipop.

"I should pack some up for my parents," Mary thought aloud, "Mom loves cookies."

Lumina nodded, "Aunty does too, on occasion. She's become conscious about her health these days, though."

Mary knew as much as Lumina did about her mysterious parentage – that is to say, Lumina told Mary everything she knew. Mary had pitied her friend at first, but Lumina had been quick to dispel such thoughts – she did not miss the parents she had never met. She was luckier than most – she was in good health, she was the wealthiest girl in her village, and, in her rare moments of immodesty, she could admit she was talented.

Mary, she sometimes felt, recognized all this and more, and seemed to look up to Lumina with the tiniest hints of idolatry. There was no doubt that the Mineral Towner had a great deal of respect for her friend, but it often went a step further – at the least it was admiration, and at most it was adoration. Mary was… frumpy. She was not unattractive, but she wasn't pretty: Her big glasses, her thick, unchanging hair, and her pink babyface all contributed to a rather homely look. With some effort, she'd look the part of a beauty, but, as Romana had always taught her, people will dress the way they think they look – and Lumina found herself applying this logic very often to the meek and apprehensive Mary, who would never see herself as anything beyond plain.

The way she saw Lumina, however, was the complete opposite. Lumina was pretty - and this was widely acknowledged - but she had spent her childhood being groomed and tailored by her rich old great-aunt and her butler, forced into dresses and attacked with combs and brushes on a daily basis. Lumina knew, though Mary would not ever admit to it, that if Mary had been in her place, she'd look just as Lumina did. It had all to do with circumstance.

"Mom's been dieting again though, she'll probably ask about the calories in every single ingredient we used today," Mary smiled wryly.

Mary's parents, Anna and Basil Brunell, were good people and well respected in Mineral Town, though were often at odds with each other – Anna had never thought much of Basil's career as a botanist, which had left him stung. Lumina often sympathized with him - hell could freeze over a dozen times before she married a man who scorned her passion. Mary was closer with her outdoorsy father than with her haughty mother, but the family was a tight-knit one nonetheless: many Mondays in her youth had been spent with the family of three on a walk along Mineral Town's own wooded area, Mother's Hill.

In fact, it was this that brought Lumina a small amount of pain. She loved her Aunty, and she loved Sebastian, but the image in her mind of Mary and her family spending a day up in the mountain together was the kind of family scene she could never picture herself in. Her family, while loving in its own way, was a degree too disjointed for something so idyllic. Sebastian loved her like his own grand-daughter, and her Aunty had her own oppressive way of loving her, and the two of them certainly kept a pleasant – if not slightly formal – friendship, but as a family, as one unit, Lumina felt it was weak. This was attributed, no doubt, to the unconventionality of the arrangement.

It wasn't long before the topic that had been weighing on Lumina's mind had been breached."Hey, Lumi," Mary prompted inquisitively, "Any news from the Grace Orchestra?"

Lumina's breathing became shallow, "Oh, you know they are," she said neutrally. Mary gave her a look that plainly said she didn't. Impatiently, Lumina said, "Always slow with their mail. I checked this morning, but there was nothing."

"I'm sorry," Mary said in a small voice.

"Hey, now! Don't make it sound like I've already been rejected!" Lumina forced a laugh, "The letter's not here yet, that's all." Secretly, she had been aching all weekend for Monday to arrive, hoping it would finally be the day she got some confirmation.

"Y-You're right! I'm sorry!" Mary apologized sincerely. "I shouldn't have…" She trailed off, just as the oven beeped and the cookies were ready.

Distracted by the baked goods, the girls delved into cheerier topics: gossip from their respective villages, news about the Pumpkin Festival, and of course, the new chapters of Mary's novel.

"You've come so far already!" Lumina was shocked as she held the hard-covered journal Mary handed to her. Mary munched on a cookie happily as she watched Lumina peruse the contents and pick up where she had left off last time.

"It's not _that _exciting or anything, my characters tend to get away from me…"

"They write themselves," Lumina said without removing her eyes from the words on the page, "It's amazing, really."

Lumina knew that Mary's story was heavily inspired by her life in Mineral Town. The pastoral tale she was writing was of an abandoned farm and a heroic farmer who decided to take it up. The premise was quite basic, but what she lacked in originality she made up for in the fluidity of her writing and her firm grasp on her own characters: the dialogue was unique to each. Some of the characters seemed so unique, Lumina had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that they were all penned by the same shy, plain girl in front of her.

"I can't believe it! He'd just taken the farm and then… Oh Goddess!" Lumina gasped as she tore through the story. Mary simply looked pleased at the reactions she was getting from her friend.

"How do you manage to end a chapter on a note like that?" Lumina demanded, ten minutes later, bewildered at the blank page she had come to, "I can't – You can't just _do _that!"

"It's called a cliffhanger, Lumi," giggled the authoress.

"I'll have none of it! Tell me what happens!" said an outraged Lumina, her friend only shaking her head and giggling uncontrollably.

"Nope!"

"_Mary!"_

"No, Lumi!" she laughed, "You'll just have to wait until next week."

Lumina groaned, defeated, as she was every week.

"Well now! You girls seem to be having fun," came the cawing voice of Aunty Romana as she entered the kitchen, "Mary, dear, it's nice to see you. Please excuse me for not greeting you earlier, I was in the middle of a check-up with Dr. Hardy,"

"Oh – No, that's – It's… N-No problem!" Mary stammered. Romana naturally intimidated many people, despite her small stature, but those who were easily intimidated, like Mary, found her downright terrifying, even when she addressed them in her kindest tones.

"I do hope Lumina has fed you," Romana blustered on, pretending not to notice.

"Sh-She has!"

"Well, I didn't give you _much, _Mary, we only made cookies. If you're hungry, feel free to- "

"Oh, n-no no, I'm fine, really!"

Romana took this as a cue to try a cookie, and she did. "Lovely!" she squawked, "I should put some tea on, that and some of these cookies would really hit the spot…"

Lumina got up to do just that, saving her great-aunt the trouble. Romana took a seat the dining table, opposite Mary, and sat there in silence while the water boiled. The bespectacled girl decided to bite into another half a dozen cookies to avoid talking to the imposing elderly woman in front of her. Romana did not notice, and helped herself to a few more herself. When the kettle whistled, Mary shot to her feet and wobbled after Lumina in the kitchen, offering to help serve the tea.

Placing an ornate saucer and teacup – an antique, no doubt, being part of the Wyndham household - in front of the aged Romana, Mary found herself the target of a compliment she had never before gotten:

"You'll make a fine housewife one day, dear. And an excellent mother, I'm sure!" Romana told her kindly.

Lumina rolled her eyes while her back was still to her great-aunt: Romana still spoke as if it was a given that every young woman's destiny was to become a prim and proper housewife. Still, it was the kindest thing someone of Romana's generation was likely to say to a girl.

"Ah, I… Er, I think Lumina would make for a _much _b-better one. She's the one who did m-most of this anyway."

Romana looked at the tea strangely suddenly, as if unsure what was in it. She had a faraway expression on her face, and Lumina had the strangest suspicion that she was imagining her as a housewife or mother in the distant – or near – future. Lumina was suddenly afraid Mary may have put some unnecessary ideas into her great-aunt's head. However, Romana behaved strangely:

"Hm, Yes." She said absently, her tone indifferent to the suggestion. "I think I'll take my tea into my room with me, girls. Thank you."

Her voice was stiff, and she left briskly, leaving, in her wake, an enigmatic air and a pregnant pause.

The behavior was suspicious, at the very least, and reminded Lumina that she had intended to talk to Mary about the _rest _of the suspicious behavior that seemed to be happening around the Villa lately; namely, Romana's and Sebastian's determined attempts to keep people away from the Shed in the courtyard.

Mary stood there with a look of confusion on her white face.

"Let's go to my room – there's something I've been meaning to discuss with you."

# # #

The rain had not let up all day, and it was into a gloomy night that Mary disappeared, back up the hill to Mineral Town. Just as they had this morning, Lumina stood with her hands clasped together under an umbrella Sebastian held over her head.

"I'm certain Vesta and her farmhands have enjoyed this day-off from watering their crops," Sebastian said conversationally.

"Oh, it's not that simple, Sebastian," Lumina said with a sniff, "Over-watering can be _dire _for crops…" She proceeded to explain the plights that farmers faced when rain persisted for days on end, all of which she had learned from reading Mary's surprisingly exciting tale of the farmer on the abandoned farm. After Mary was over the hill and out of sight, the duo made the trek home, following the lamp-posts positioned around the valley, Lumina wrapped up in a complex explanation of all she had read in Mary's novel.

Reaching the manor after a wet twenty minutes in the rain, Sebastian put away the umbrellas and bid the young miss good night.

Romana did not emerge from her room all night.

# # #

The next day, Lumina's heart leapt to see the mailman at the door of the Villa.


	4. Chapter 4: A Thing like Hope

.

.

- Chapter 4 -  
><span>A Thing like Hope<span>

Lumina could have cried into her pillows for the remainder of the day had it not been extremely un-lady-like of her. The day had begun with a flame of hope foolishly burning in her heart as she saw the mailman standing outside the villa in the sunny rays of an autumn sun, only to be doused and put out in mere seconds.

"You're on _strike?_" she cried when the mailman gave her the grim news.

"Just goin' around giving out the news, ma'am. It's effective as of today, and until our demands are met, not a single mailman in the region is handing out a single letter."

Lumina had felt faint. With an unsympathetic glare at the grim-faced man, she returned to her room and fell back into her pillows, refusing to get changed and almost wishing she was in the midst of an awful dream. She'd offer to pay the mailmen _herself, _out of her own sizeable wealth, just to get that damned letter from the Grace Orchestra. A terrifying scenario came to mind: what if she _had _been accepted, and due to the Goddess-awful strike, she never received the letter? Or at least, she didn't receive it in time to reply, and they assumed she no longer had a desire to join?

The sun shone in mockingly and Lumina rolled over, burying her face in her pillows. She could easily stay here all day. What was the point, anyway? Her dreams were being dashed and the mailmen couldn't care less.

Annoyed at everything, Lumina tried to will herself back to sleep. There was little point in going through the same dreary day in the same dreary manner. It was at this point in the morning that Lumina would be fully dressed, sitting in front of her grand piano in the living room and tearing through sheet after sheet of music, perfecting her skills and sending music cascading down the manor's hill and into the valley for all to enjoy.

She just couldn't see the point in it, today. She'd sleep until mid-day, into the afternoon, into the evening if she had to.

Forget-Me-Not would just have to go a morning without her music.

# # #

"Young Miss?" Sebastian rapped at the door. It was two o' clock in the afternoon, and his voice sounded almost shrill with concern, "If you're sick, at least let me fetch Dr. Hardy!"

Lumina, though half-asleep, could hear the frustration in his voice: he knew not to enter without the permission of the young miss, but Lumina would continue to pretend not to hear him.

"Young Miss, this is highly unlike you. I should at least take your temperature or – "

The level of concern in his voice finally coerced Lumina into a guilty response: "I'm _fine, _Sebastian!"

"Then what is the meaning of this?" She heard the concern in his voice wane and the frustration wax once he knew that she was well enough to speak.

"Can I not be left alone for a day? That's hardly asking too much, is it?" She sounded unnecessarily sharp, and realized with a pang of discomfort that the voice she had just spoken in was one her Aunty had often used.

After a moment's silence, in which guilt wracked Lumina for being short with her friend, Sebastian said: "Very well, Young Miss. I apologize. Please do take of yourself." The stiffness in his voice made her wonder if he had heard the hints of Romana as well.

"I – Yes, I will. Thank you, Sebastian," she softened her tone considerably for good measure.

She heard his footsteps fade away and knew he had descended the staircase to the ground level. Lumina felt alone, and found solace in it – the silence was soothing like a wet towel to a burning forehead.

Lumina sat up, no longer feeling tired after the interlude with Sebastian. She had managed to doze off before, sleeping in for another few hours – a rarity she hardly ever indulged in, despite having nowhere to be most days. The young woman looked around her room with bleary eyes.

The villa was an old building, charming in its aged features. The cream-coloured bricks that made up her walls and fireplace were not even painted, and her carpet, both rose in colour and embroidered with roses, was old and dusty. Despite this, she felt warm and comforted by the familiar surroundings, ancient though they seemed. At the center of her room was a small clothed table and two chairs on either side – usually where Sebastian left her tea when he brought it for her. Behind that was her favourite feature of her room – the large bay window that overlooked the overgrowth behind the villa. The window welcomed the sun and the superfluous natural light made her room seem both bigger and more inviting.

She had no intention of leaving her room today. It may have been juvenile of her, but she didn't want to speak to her great-aunt and garner her annoyance, and the prospect of garnering Sebastian's pity was almost as dreadful.

No, she would ask for her supper up here today, and that would be that. There was no need to spread her misery beyond the confines of her room; it would be a day in quarantine.

# # #

Lumina was unsurprisingly restless the next day. She woke up around noon and heard the door open and close as Dr. Hardy came in for his usual check-up with Romana. Sebastian, she knew simply out of routine, would be in the kitchen preparing a light lunch now for the two women of the household. He had been kind enough to bring Lumina her dinner the night before, and she knew he would do the same again, but she didn't fancy being waited on today. Eager to stretch her legs, Lumina forced the news of the mail strike out of her mind momentarily and dressed herself, intending to go for a walk. The brilliant days of late autumn would only last for so long, she knew.

Sleep had renewed her hope, if only a tiny bit. She still felt her stomach drop every time the thought of the letter surfaced, but the desire to dissolve into tears was gone – which was good - and was now replaced with a shred of optimism: these strikes couldn't last _too _long, could they? She had never known one to get out of hand – either demands were met, or more likely, a compromise would be made, and everything would continue on as normal. Lumina was now apprehensive about _when _that would be, and prayed that it would be soon.

The thought of praying was not too far-fetched, she thought, and decided she'd take a walk to one of her favourite of the Forget-Me-Not locales: The Goddess Pond.

The pond was to the north of the village, well into the forest, but in a serene little clearing that villagers often sought for a moment of peace and quiet. It was named as such for the rumours that the Harvest Goddess had once manifested in its pristine water, but few believed it these days. Others claimed to see the little elf-like Harvest Sprites, the emissaries of the Goddess, running around – but again, it took either the very religious or the very imaginative to make such claims.

Slipping out of her room in a dress of powder blue tartan and her usual yellow hair band, Lumina tip-toed down the staircase and treaded lightly around their sleeping Siamese cat. The animal continued to sleep soundly, ears twitching at the sound of Lumina's footsteps but otherwise unperturbed. She could smell the potatoes and onions from the croquettes Sebastian was no doubt preparing for their lunch, and when she was sure she could hear him shuffling around the kitchen, she made for the door and crept out.

The dazzling autumn sunlight greeted her and she let out a sigh. Regardless of the light, the weather was cold enough to make every breath she took appear before her eyes.

Giving the elusive shed with its eternally-fogged windows a furtive glance, Lumina headed down the hill leading into the village. Had she not been in a skirt, she might have bounded into town just to burn off some of the excess energy.

She had had a great deal of time to think about things the day before, and the shed had kept coming up at the subconscious round-table occurring in her head.

All she knew was that her great-uncle's wine reserve was apparently locked away in it, and her great-aunt had a fierce resolve to keep anyone from so much as touching the doorknob. A voice, likely belonging to Lumina's rationality, had told her a few times that she was looking for something that wasn't there - perhaps the cigar was just a cigar in this case – but her intuition was flaring and it was telling her that Romana was hiding something. After all, if she had truly nothing to hide, there would be no need for such doggedness. As this discussion continued endlessly inside her head, that was the conclusion she always came to.

Lumina decided she wanted to find out more about her great-uncle. This, she felt, would potentially clear some things up. Uncle Duncan had passed away before she had been born, but it wasn't unlikely that someone in town had known him – she'd have to turn to the elders of Forget-Me-Not. The first step in whatever this mystery was – or wasn't – was finding out the truth about her great-uncle. (If she wasn't going to be finding out the results of her audition anytime soon, Lumina was determined to solve at least _one _mystery. It was a welcome distraction, at least.)

It was funny that Lumina, curious about a thousand other things in her youth, was rarely curious about her lineage: How did a piano make sound? Why do the leaves fall? Why did the butler giggle like a little girl after a bottle of wine? These were always at the forefront of her mind – how did the world work, and why?

As far as family was concerned, Lumina's curiosity was hardly piqued. She had naturally asked Romana a dozen or so questions about her mother at some point in her youth: was she pretty, did she play piano, did she like music, did she like painting, was she a good cook…

And expectedly, Romana had given non-committal answers at best, but mostly kept the topic from being breached. Lumina was forced to come to her own conclusions: her mother was a woman who simply did not want a child and decided to give it away.

If this was true, It may have been a harsh reality for some children to accept, but not for the rich and privileged Lumina – she knew all too well that when one didn't want a toy, it was easier to hand it to the next needy child than to remain in possession of something you wouldn't give so much as a glance. Toys were expendable – possessions were expendable. If she had just been a possession of her mother's, it was clearly her right to give her away, wasn't it? Even growing up and learning just how traumatic everyone _else_ seemed to think being motherless was, she found it hard to fault her mother. There were things in the world _far _more worthy of the girl's bitterness.

So, beyond these basic enquiries, Lumina had not asked much more. Her 'Great-Uncle Duncan' was an abstract concept, hardly an actual _person_. He had been there before Lumina, and for some reason that did not concern her, he was no longer around. _Oh well._

Was this selfish, she wondered?

It would seem odd now – and in fact, Lumina herself found it odd – to go around asking about this abstract concept of a family she had paid so little attention to her entire life – her family was Aunty and Sebastian, nothing more. It hadn't ever occurred to her to her that anything more was necessary.


	5. Chapter 5: Muffy

- Chapter 5 -  
><span>Muffy<span>

Twenty one years of life reflected in a pool of water stared up at its origin, pensive eyes looking sad and watery in the ripples of the Goddess Pond. If it were humanly possible to clear one's mind so completely, to render it void of thought, it would look like this pond, Lumina thought. The pristine water looked untouched, the surface managed to deflect a single autumn leaf from resting on it, and no fish or frog was to be found. Everything was still in the Goddess' Pond.

It was no wonder that people suspected it of being the den of the Harvest Goddess – where else in the world, Lumina wondered, was there such pure and pristine beauty? A silly question, perhaps, but Lumina could never help but feel like this was the only place in the world that mattered when she was standing there.

"Mm, you could just _drown _in those eyes of yours, sweetie."

All at once: vanilla, black sugar, jasmines, the appropriately named Lilies of the Valley. The strum of a guitar, and rays of sunlight somehow tamed into hair. Lumina suddenly remembered being a young girl in front of her Aunty's vanity, rows upon rows of perfume before her. Muffy's was nothing like her's, of course, but the intrusive smell of perfume would always make Lumina think of her great-aunt.

"Hello, Muffy."

Guitar strings cut through the still air, and Lumina knew instantly that Griffin had accompanied her. The Blue Bar duo: The blonde barmaid and the blue bartender. Muffy was something like nine years Lumina's senior, but none would guess that. She was vibrant, from her silk red dress daintily accompanied by a lilac cardigan to her vivacious curls.

The only thing that betrayed her appearance was her eyes – the eyes of a woman and not a girl: hard but warm, almost wistful. They were an unpleasant sort of green, if Lumina was to be honest, the green of seafoam on a stormy day. The ocean raged behind those eyes, Lumina knew, but it was the murky depths, the green of the abyss beneath the sparkling surface. But who bothered, these days, with eyes, when the rest of her exquisite body had so much more to offer? The way she held herself up drew only more attention to her chest - the unbuttoned cardigan, the lace of the dress underneath.

"How are you, lady?"

Muffy wrapped a long hand around Lumina's waist, her spidery fingers resting on her front. _Always touchy-feely, _Sebastian had once said, repressing a shudder.

"I've seen better days," the brunette answered honestly, standing there with Muffy in a way she no doubt stood with her many boyfriends.

"So I can see," she glanced once again at the pond and the eyes that stared back, "But chin up, Lumi. Things could be worse – and unfortunately, I've discovered that for myself just recently."

She was self-centered, but oddly enough, Lumina found it hard to fault her for it. It was hard to describe, she thought, but blaming Muffy's vanity on her was like blaming a river for going downhill; It was something that just couldn't be helped.. There was a certain brand of innocence to it – no malintent was ever behind it, of course. And either way, Lumina wasn't one to mind hearing others talk about themselves.

"Was it that boy you were seeing? Edgar? From the city?"

"Oh, honey, _no. _When was the last time we spoke? That ended. Badly – but that's a story for another time, if I haven't repressed the memory by then. This was Victor, I met him last week while in the city…"

She launched into another romantic misadventure, and Lumina needed only to nod or "_Mhmm,_" or shoot sympathetic looks in her direction while Griffin strummed on, making a demented song out of the all-too familiar back-and-forth.

"To say my luck with boys is _bad _is an understatement," Muffy sighed and gave her sun-kissed hair a toss, "It's non-_existent, _Lumina, you have _no _idea."

"You come here when you need to think, I take it?" Lumina asked, tactfully nudging the subject just a smidgen in another direction.

Muffy's laugh was another traitor to her age – somehow it sounded much older and much more humorless than her sugary tone would normally suggest. "Think, sure, you could call it that. But tell me, Lumi, do I strike you as much of a thinker? I'm a _talker. _I come here to talk. And y'know who listens? The Goddess."

"You never would have struck me as the religious type," Lumina was unsure whether she should be feeling impressed or skeptical.

"You don't have to be, do you?" she said with the faintest hint of a southern drawl, "Come to the city with me sometime, Lumi. People think big there; they _talk _big."

It was hard to understand just what Muffy meant at times like this, but Lumina nodded all the same, and Griffin played on, and the river kept heading downstream.

# # #

If only walking could be made into an artform. Could it? The blonde had to have strolled out of the womb in those crimson stilettos, tossing hair that hadn't grown yet and batting barely-visible eyelashes. There was no other way Lumina could envision it. _The production or expression of something that is aesthetically beautiful. _

If Muffy's legs, so effectively clad in their stocking, tall and measured and rhythmical, weren't considered aesthetically beautiful, Lumina was sure beauty would have to be redefined.

As the three of them followed the river's path down to the village – Griffin heard but not seen as he played a slow song to the rhythm of his steps behind them – Lumina found herself frustrated that she hadn't _actually _had any time to herself to think, and was now being whisked off to the Blue Bar.

"The noise takes some getting used to," Muffy was still talking about the city, "But it's like music in its own way. There's _so much _of it, too, and it's always changing."

"I'd imagine there isn't much …_form_ to such a whirlwind of noise." The younger girl sniffed in mild indignation.

Muffy barely heard her, but kept up her walk, her feet so comfortable in those high-heeled shoes. Her body moved to the rhythm of some nonexistent music, and Lumina knew that she was back in the city, her feet moving to a ballet of honking cars and street buskers and revolving doors. She wondered why Muffy would even choose to stay in the Valley with the city in her heart and her heart in the city.

# # #

It was hard to describe how Lumina felt towards the barmaid. She was a creature of beauty – and if Romana had managed to drill anything into Lumina's head, it was that beauty was to be treasured above all else. She had grown up in a life of aestheticism, living in her symmetrical manor of rose-coloured bricks and tartan dresses and well-groomed felines.

Romana often called Lumina down into her room on the ground floor and shared with her a newly-acquired antique, the gleam in her eyes proportionate to the value and intricacy of the object before her.

"Beauty is timeless," her Aunty had said, _"_And it's always worth collecting in this world of ours."

But Muffy was not an antique – she was not timeless, and her beauty was not crafted at the hands of a famed artisan and admired by the eyes of the influential and the powerful. She would not be placed in Romana's room, she would not be worthy of even a sparkle in Romana's eyes, Lumina knew.

"_Now I know the way I take the music, you know something happened, dancing inside me," _she sang, her voice husky and only occasionally on key, the beauty mark on corner of her mouth stretching and thinning with the words. She sat atop the countertop, her legs crossed and her hair bouncing with the rest of her swaying body, her long fingers coming together in a snap every half a second.

"_Yes, I want you to feel my heart, close your eyes," _she followed her own instructions, luscious eyelashes clamping shut on powdered flesh, "_Feel it, feel it, feel it…"_

Griffin continued to strum behind the counter lazily, conversing with the music like an old friend.

# # #

"What's troubling you, Lumi-Oomi?" Muffy's voice jumped a few octaves higher until it sounded like a crude imitation of a child. It was fitting, as she had just exhibited as much tact as a child in only sensing Lumina's heavy heart this far into their encounter, and after they had all had a few drinks.

"Guys?_ Why _do you call this place the Blue Bar?"

"That _can't _be it."

"It's not _blue. _Why isn't it _blue_?"

Muffy poured another Cherry Pink from the pitcher. "C'mon," she said. _C'mon. _Low and loving. Gentle but ardent. _C'mon _was all it took.

"I'm pining," Lumina said simply, deciding to speak the language of the natives, "My heart's… fracturing."

"Boy trouble?" she asked, comfortably, knowingly.

"The worst kind. I keep waiting for his replies, in fact, I _know _he should be writing back… But he's not."

"Oh _Goddess._" Muffy scoffed, "Boys are the _worst _at long-distance. Trying to communicate with one right in front of you is like pulling teeth, trying to do the same with someone so _far away…_"

Lumina would be touched by her passion if she didn't already know that it stemmed not from Muffy's empathy but, once again, her own experiences.

"I _know._" Lumina slumped down in her chair, pushing the tall and now empty glass of Cherry Pink back, letting it teeter on the edge of the counter, "I can barely sleep, Muffy. I can barely _think. _I… I want to… to smash that mailbox in with a hoe."

"You've got it bad," Muffy put a firm grip high up on Lumina's arm, still seated on the counter with her legs crossed.

"So bad it's _good. Wonderful, _even." The musician mumbled into the cedar wood of the bar top as she pressed her forehead against it, "It gives me something to live for."

Muffy crooned out her song again. Her voice was further derailed by the alcohol she had had since her first performance, and the music in all its imperfection lulled the younger girl to sleep, head pressed against fishnet stockings.

# # #

Lumina had gotten up that morning with enough energy to fly to the moon and back, and now found herself struggling to lift one foot in front of the other to remove herself from the doorway of the Blue Bar. Of _course _she had to be wearing a pair of mannish penny loafers, stumbling around as if unsure how feet worked while Muffy made the world her catwalk in her sharp heels. If she made walking an art, Lumina was the farthest thing from an artist in that moment.

"Yeah, Cherry Pinks'll do that to you," Griffin grunted as she stumbled on her feet again and he leaned down to scoop her up. The sun dyed the Valley in hues of deep orange and pink that would have taken Lumina's breath away if her throat didn't feel so oily with alcohol.

"Especially for lightweights," came Muffy's sing-song voice from behind them, teasing and airy.

"Yes, well…" Lumina spoke slowly when inebriated, determined to keep sentence structure somehow intact. _Words are so fragile, moreso than anything in this world, I'd say. You should always handle them with utmost care. _Mary had once told her that. Mary. Mary _would _say that.

"I'd rather have a song in my throat twelve hours a day than a bottle, but that's just me," she snipped. Muffy only laughed, the retort washing over her like foam.

"Listen you, go on home and get some rest and dream of your love. Dreams always make things better. And spank Sebastian's ass for me on the way in too, that'll drive him crazy." Tipsy and mischievous, Muffy held on to the side of the doorframe to subdue her own laughter.

"An' maybe wake up to a letter or something, eh?" Griffin gave Lumina a firm smack on the back – causing her only to stumble. Of course he knew _exactly _what this was all about, but in typical Griffin fashion, he had withheld any comment.

"Nope," Lumina said, rubbing bleary eyes and regaining her balance, "Mail's on strike."

"Oh, chickadee," Muffy crooned, wrapping her arms around Lumina's waist and resting her chin on her shoulder, "Don't sound so defeated."

"I'm _sorry, _It's just – hard to keep up _hope…_"

"Come with me," Muffy shook her lightly, still embracing her. For a second Lumina thought she wanted to take her back into the bar for another round, and her stomach and throat were on the verge of protesting _quite _vocally, but - "Come hear the city music with me. Come. We'll go find that letter and bring it back ourselves."

Lumina stood straight up suddenly, Muffy still hanging on to her.

Now _there _was an idea.


	6. Chapter 6: City Eyes

- Chapter 6 -  
>City Eyes<p>

A young girl once stood in the living room of her villa and looked up at the four very real Christmas trees erected around the large room. Powdery snow garnished the windows and weak strands of moonlight assimilated themselves into the well-lit room as her Great-Aunt stood on a step-ladder, adjusting porcelain ornaments on the trees. Tiny Harvest Goddesses crafted carefully out of glass sparkled at the top of each tree, tiny glass arms clasped together and tiny glass eyes gazing heavenwards.

This was a yearly tradition at the manor, but the young girl of about four years old had just been struck by the oddest thought: why did her great-aunt insist on real trees, uprooted and sent from the next village over by a burly carpenter, when they could easily purchase artificial ones in the city and keep them year after year?

When she voiced her curiosity, her Great-Aunt had given her a knowing smile and a small titter before answering, "_Authenticity."_

"Au…then…tissy?"

"My dear," the old woman stepped off the step-ladder and put a hand firmly on the girl's shoulder, "How do you expect to be _real _unless you surround yourself with real things?"

It was perhaps this mindset - another thing inherited from her Great-Aunt Romana - that made it difficult for Lumina to feel comfortable in the city. Artificial lighting, Artificial sounds, Artificial food. It was never the kind of place she'd be able to settle into, and as infectious as Muffy's infatuation might be, she could never shake off that sense of apprehension.

The noise was overbearing, regardless of what Muffy had said about it being music. The air had a_ taste – _breathing it in brought in the faintest hints of gasoline and sweat and garbage. The country made wearing a coat necessary in the winter, to buffet the cold, but in the city wearing a coat was only detrimental; one found themselves sweating within minutes, caught between the body heat of all the bustling bodies and the constant motion of cars and trucks and bicycles. The snow never lasted long in the city; it made a grand show out of falling, but never quite made it to the ground.

It was this first snow that fell when Lumina and Muffy found themselves darting past people through the crowded streets of the city. Again, Muffy's every step was poised and self-assured as she side-stepped through the mass of bodies, her heels never missing a beat on the cement sidewalk. Lumina struggled a bit more, finding it impossible not to bump into people and feeling out of breath despite being the younger of the two. Muffy had travelled these streets well in her years while Lumina had been stuck inside her lavish home on the hill of Forget-Me-Not Valley.

"Are you sure you know where the post office is? Are we even remotely close?"

"I have absolutely _no _idea, chickadee."

"But – "

"_But, _that's _not_ an issue when you're in the city."

To illustrate her point, the busty thirty-year old stopped a man in his tracks with a single glance and requested directions.

"You'll want to go up Bellflower and turn right on Chord," he grunted. He was evidently pleased to be helping out a beautiful woman, but his brow remained furrowed and it looked like it took him a tremendous amount of effort to lift the corners of his mouth, as if each weighed a ton. These traits were not uncommon among the city people, Lumina had noticed.

"Bellflower, then Chord. Got it." Muffy thanked him and gave him a cheery wave before weaving through the cavalcade of bodies once again, getting herself well ahead of her travelling cohort once again.

"Did that sound familiar to you at all?" an out-of-breath Lumina asked after catching up.

"Vaguely. Well, not really. But once you know how the City _works, _you can get _anywhere._"

Without another word, the duo set off again, Lumina struggling to keep up with the mass of golden curls in front of her. The smell of vanilla and jasmines lead her forward, cutting through the city air like a dagger.

# # #

Truly, it had never occurred to Lumina to take her own destiny by the reigns and spur it onwards. Just a few short mornings ago she had been buried under duvet blankets and plush pillows cursing the world and all of its mailmen, and the thought of climbing over into the driver's seat and steering her life in a direction of her choice did not even occur to her.

'_Goddess, I'm making car analogies now?' _She scoffed mentally, '_It's a sure sign that this city air is getting to me.' _

It had been three days since Muffy planted the idea of going to the city in Lumina's head. In that time, Muffy planned excitedly, deciding that they'd make a day of it.

"Have you ever tried Sushi? The way they make it in the city is to _die _for," she said the next day, taking up her usual position on the counter top, crossing her legs and holding her pen like an actress from the 20s held a long cigarette holder.

"Post office first," Lumina insisted, giving the notebook in her hands a hard look. _'I don't give one whit about food.' _

"We will, we will! Come on, doll face, that letter isn't going _anywhere._"

She grits her teeth. "Indeed it's not, the postmen have seen to _that._"

"Looks like someone's just asked for a trip to the city's _finest _bar!" said Muffy in her sing-song voice.

She was nothing if not pro-active, at least. Griffin did not interject, but Lumina had spent enough time with him to be able to read his silence well enough, and she knew he disapproved of this. You should let things happen as they do, and take life one step at a time – that was exactly what Griffin was telling her when he cast his eyes on her, giving her a hard glance while Muffy's back was to him. Though not quite as versed in the inaudible language of the eyes, Lumina shot back her best _You _try being in this situation, see how long _you _can go without cracking.

No one was surprised when Romana and Sebastian protested. "You're not… _really _going to travel all that way with… _her_, are you, Young Miss? I don't mean to doubt the integrity of your choices, but… is it _safe_?"

"She's been to the city more times than either you or Aunty _combined. _I mean, she was even born in one! If anyone's going to be a safe guide, it'll be her."

"Yes, well, be that as it may, had it ever occurred to you that she may simply be more familiar with the, er… _underbelly _of the city?"

"_Sebastian!"_

"I – I apologize!"

He then insisted on accompanying her, but thought better of it when realizing he'd be stuck a day with the golden-haired creature that made his skin crawl.

Romana was no better, sniffing indignantly at the sound of Muffy's name and making no effort to hide her suspicions. "I don't know what she intends to drag you into, but it's best to keep your wits about you in the city. I know you're not naïve, Lumina; I saw to that."

It was incredible, Lumina thought, how easy it was to delude oneself. It really shouldn't have been that hard to believe that she was just going to the city to, once and for all, rid herself of the parasite-like curiosity eating away at her insides. Still, even with their mistrust of Muffy, not another word was said the morning she departed, and she hoped they remembered that she had never given them a reason to doubt her.

"I'll be fine," she assured Sebastian at the door as she was handed her long red peacoat, "I've been to the city before, and I'm _really_ only interested in heading to the post office. I'll be back by evening – Muffy even has our tickets booked for a round trip, even."

Sebastian nodded stonily, his long face marred with circles under his eyes. She supposed it was touching, in the end.

She and Muffy had met at the Bar, where Muffy lodged as well, and had taken off from there, Griffin giving them a sleepy goodbye, his pompadour uncombed and looking like a squirrel's nest. Muffy had been dressed in a ¾-length plaid trench coat, one she had no doubt chosen with a high enough cut to make her long legs seem even longer. Hastily finishing a cup of espresso and handing it back to Griffin as he stood in the doorway, the two girls headed through the morning frost towards the eastern end of town, ready to ascend the hill to Mineral Town.

From there, they'd take a boat from the docks and hit the mainland by mid-afternoon. The walk had been long, and Lumina had never been more out of shape, she realized, and couldn't stifle a pang of sympathy for poor Mary, making this journey twice in one day every week. She made a mental note to try and visit her more often, it was only fair.

She had wanted to pop in on the librarian, but after dragging her feet through the hour-and-a-half-long walk through the hillside, Muffy firmly insisted on heading straight to the pier so as to not miss their boat.

The boatman was apparently a local of Mineral Town, but not one that Lumina had ever met. His skin looked may as well have been coated in thick honey, for how it gleamed like bronze even in the wintery sunlight. After this, his mouth was the first thing Lumina noticed – it was big, and this was just as well, for the rest of his body seemed to follow this template: big and vaguely square-shaped.

Muffy _'knew' _him, a resident by the name of Zack, and one glance between them told Lumina just what _'knowing' _each other entailed in their case. She was hardly surprised to find that Zack had given them a significant discount on their tickets. His eyes swept over Lumina with barely a linger and then fell on Muffy, before he moved closer to purr something in her ear.

Muffy giggled, her head of gold quivering with her voice. "Thanks Zack, we'll see you later."

"The last boat back is pretty late, Muffy," he said in his lazy baritone voice, "I couldn't forgive myself if I let you walk all the way home after that. Not when I have _so much _room at my place."

_No. _Lumina thought immediately and forcefully enough that she hoped Muffy would somehow pick up on the brainwave.

"…Oh, _Zack. _I think I'll take a raincheck on that." She simpered, "G'bye, big guy."

Leaving the leviathan of a man behind at the foot of the pier, Muffy walked on expertly and Lumina followed, almost aware to the point of discomfort that Muffy had just walked away with Zack's eyes stuck to her legs.

"We'll be back by evening, and even if we miss it, the boat starts up first thing in the morning."

"I don't have any plans to _stay _in the city." Lumina clarified quickly, but she could unfortunately see the gears turning in her cohort's head, "Goddess knows Sebastian would hang himself with a dish towel."

Eyelashes fluttering closed for a split second, Muffy gave Lumina a tantalizing wink that confirmed all her worries.

"Such a _kitten _he is_,_" she muttered, giving Zack a wave as they boarded.

Lumina wondered briefly if Muffy had ever, in fact, _seen _a kitten.

# # #

"73 Chord. I think we've made it, Lumi."

Chord had been much less busy the moment they had turned on to it, the sounds of the city slowly fading away as they made their way down it. It seemed mainly residential, and Lumina could hardly imagine living in any of the houses crammed together like keys on a piano. The post office was at the end of the street, a white block of a building laden with small pigeons, looking inquisitively at the patrons passing below them. The noiselessness of the street met its end here, as the white corner building swarmed with groups of people herded together into vaguely-defined lines.

"Oh Goddess, _really?_" The sight had nearly depleted what patience Lumina had left. Familiar hands found themselves on her shoulders.

"We're _here_. One way or another, you'll have that letter in your hands before the end of the day."

It would have been a comforting thought if Lumina hadn't spent their entire walk predicting all the ways it could go wrong: the mailmen might have taken the strike a step further and refused to hand out letters, the Grace Orchestra had forgotten her existence, the letter simply wasn't there yet, or – though Lumina wasn't sure if this was the worst case scenario or not – the letter _was _there, and held the rejection she had been dreading for months. It was closure of a sort, sure, but it was the outcome that made her insides squirm the most.

"Look at that face of yours, lady. You worried about what it might say?"

"Sort of," Lumina replied, her own voice sounding distant, "This letter will be… a fork in the road." _To put it one way. _

Go on to greatness or go back to square one.

Muffy's eyes brightened and she looked momentarily moved, "You _have _to tell me all about him, Lumi. You owe me a story, and it looks like we're going to be here for a while. Who on earth could have you this crazy?"

_Oh, right. This was all supposed to be about a guy. _Lumina mentally scoffed._ If only. _

"Please, Muffy… I can barely get my voice out of my throat, don't ask me to recite a whole _story._"

"Fair enough. But once we're done here, missy, I'm taking you some place we can moisten that throat of yours."

There was really no point protesting, and Lumina had already surrendered herself to the blonde for the day. She just wondered if the drinks would be in celebration or in defeat.

They took their place in the line, among the other customers and the ropes and stanchions coiling through the pearly post office. Powerless against the plodding pace at which the line moved, Muffy decided it was up to her to prattle on to help the time pass.

Lumina couldn't imagine even a child in a toy store to be more excitable than Muffy was to be in the city: she marked off all the places she wanted to take Lumina, conveniently ignoring that they only had a few good hours with which to do everything. Restaurants, bars, theaters, malls, casinos…

"Oh, if we come during the _Spring, _they even have a _fair_ that comes to town. You know, those really dinky ones with the ferris wheels and cotton candy! I wish we could get one of those in Forget-Me-Not Valley – but then again, seeing farmland from the top of a ferris wheel isn't the most romantic sight."

Lumina reprised her usual role when Muffy went into her fugues, the stream of _Mhmm_'s and _Oh really?_'s coming full on. The barmaid was clearly under the assumption that once Lumina got so much as a whiff of city air – repugnant though she thought it was – she'd be forever enthralled and become her newest playmate in her favourite playground. The chasm between this fantasy and the reality of the situation was expanding with every passing moment, but she continued undeterred.

The line seemed to be inching forward. The angry city-dwellers, as Lumina saw them, tapped their feet endlessly and let out hot, tormented breaths until reaching the front desks, where tempers flew and voices amplified.

The city seemed to be having a bad day, and it was nothing if not infectious. Muffy, naturally, was immune.

"Why _don't _you live in the city?" The thought had been on her mind for an age now, and it was about time it was voiced. Muffy's tirade was interrupted and she crossed her arms, lifting a slender finger to her cheek.

"You can have a favourite drink, can't you? Everyone has one - doesn't mean you're about to give up drinking water to stay hydrated."

_An analogy, _Lumina felt cheeky for being impressed, but there it was. "Still, that doesn't entirely apply."

"I love the city, but it's no good for me." She shook her head with a sad smile, "Think about it. You run to your favourite drink to comfort yourself, but have too much of it and it clouds your judgment."

_Better, _Lumina thought, and would have smiled if nerves hadn't frozen her face over.

"I told you – I'm not much of a thinker, Lumi, but the Valley helps with that. I feel like I can use this pretty noggin of mine for more than just turning heads."

The brunette just nodded. She understood that.

"And it's because I love the city so much that I gotta stay away. Too much of a good thing is bad, y'know?"

Muffy spoke about the city like a tender lover, one that made her so vulnerable she dared not get too close in case it shied away at her touch. It was then that Lumina decided to make a phone call: she might just stay the night after all.

# # #

"And how can I help you two _cupcakes_?" asked the woman at the desk. Her voice was dry and humorless, and it couldn't be clearer that any patience she had started the day with had been sapped away entirely. She narrowed her eyes at the two girls through horn-rimmed glasses. A fluorescent light flickered capriciously above them and her gray flyaway hair looked like a dark cloud of cracking electricity – and her temperament seemed to match.

"My name's Lumina Wyndham, from Forget-Me-Not Valley, and I'm –"

"Alright, alright, _alright._" The woman pulled back from her desk, "Save the life story for _Oprah, _yer here to get a letter, I get it." She hobbled into the room directly behind the desk.

Giving Muffy a quizzical quirk of her eyebrow, Lumina wondered if she was going to return. Muffy shrugged and told her, "They probably have them arranged by name. I'm sure she's shuffled through your letter a dozen times today while trying to find other ones."

It seemed to be the truth, for she reappeared just as the fluorescent light flickered again in time with Lumina's skipping heartbeat.

"This what y'came for?"

Muffy nearly squealed, "There it is, Lumi!"

There it was. Lumina recognized the envelope instantly, despite its crinkled state. She could make out the intricate harp flanked by two doves on each side – the Grace Orchestra logo.

Clapping her hands together,Muffy clearly expected her companion to look ecstatic, but Lumina felt like her face had been extracted of all sensation.

"Anything else?" the woman asked mechanically, her bird's nest of a head flickering in the light, sounding as if she was fervently praying the answer would be No.

"Open it, Lumi!"

"_Anything else?"_

"Oh hush! Do you know how long she's _waited _for that letter?"

To say the clerk was unamused would be an understatement.

Once outside 73 Chord, a sudden wind picked up and Lumina tightened her grip on the envelope. It had taken her a few moments to recall how to walk once she had it in her hands, and it was only when greeted by the harsh winter air that she realized what exactly she was holding. The contents of this envelope were about to change her future, for better or for worse.

She cast Muffy a look that she hoped expressed determination – She nodded, so Lumina assumed that she managed to read the emotion beyond her face's rigidity. Muffy spoke and the words penetrated Lumina's ears like she was hearing for the first time since leaving the womb.

"Do it."


	7. Chapter 7: The Pearl Moon

**/Author's Note: **I did not intend to take a 2-year hiatus after the last chapter (how does time even pass by that quickly? How?!), but there you have it! Sorry about that, especially leaving on a cliffhanger. If there's a special section of Hell roped off for writers and authors, I think I m ay have just committed one of the deadliest sins I kinda lost interest in this story, but with a bit of prompting and some rediscovered inspiration, I finally churned this chapter out. Enjoy! **End Author's Note/**

- Chapter 7 -  
><span>The Pearl Moon<span>

Nerves attacked Lumina like summer-born mosquitoes, her feet moving mechanically as she plodded out onto the stage of the empty concert hall. No amount of Relaxation Tea was able to_ actually _relax her, even though Sebastian had packed her a spare flask to bring with her for this particular excursion to the city. The excursion that might just change her life.

"Lumina Wyndham?" a voice asked from the seats. Lumina could barely make out the owner, for the stage lights blotted out much of her vision.

"Yes, that would b-be me."

"A pianist, correct?" the seemingly omnipresent voice asked, "Our piano is to the left. Well, _your _right." Stage right.

The Orchestra's piano was old, upright and wooden, a veritable behemoth when compared to the sleek and elegant black Bösendorfer grand piano Lumina's fingers were accustomed to. It couldn't be helped, for bringing her instrument all the way from Forget-Me-Not was completely unrealistic – but still, as Lumina took her seat and raised her arms to the keys, the unfamiliarity of the beast in front of her became all too pronounced.

_"Pianists are prisoners of their instruments,"_ Romana had once told her, using her wisest tones, _"All we can do is make ourselves comfortable and be sure to bring a song to our trial."_

"And you'll be playing?"

"Semiletov's _Ode to Albireo,_ Piano Suite."

There was a murmur of interest. "Unconventional."

Then silence.

The keys were heavy under her fingers, and each took a little more strain to push than they usually did. Her fingers didn't fly across the board as they usually did, but seemed to hover languidly. The timbre of the instrument offered a greater range of dynamics, which she attempted to use to her advantage, but in the end the song she had chosen was too complex for her fingers to execute on such a foreign instrument.

Lumina did adequately.

Rising from the unfamiliar seat, Lumina was bathed in the oppressive light once more, ears eagerly awaiting a reaction while her eyes saw nothing beyond the white.  
>"Thank you, we'll be getting back to you by November." Lumina was used to the cold and professional disposition of the auditions, and gave her thanks to disembodied voice before taking her leave.<p>

As soon as she was no longer under the harsh lighting of the hall, Lumina felt the knot in her stomach momentarily undo itself, only to be redone with a hundred times as much as force as hindsight kicked in. All the measures she had screwed up in, all the flat notes she squeaked out, all the instances she had fallen out of time with the piece - every instance came back to her in the dim lighting of the hallway.

"You sounded _lovely._" Sebastian's obligatory glorification began, "Semiletov could not have played it better herself."

Lumina nodded her thanks and took her bag from his hand. "Let us catch the next boat, the city air is getting to me," she told him before heading down the hallway herself.

Unsatisfied by the response, Sebastian caught up and asked, "Well, how do you think you did?"

Looking back at him with eyes forcing neutrality, she said, "I suppose we'll just have to wait and see."

And so she had waited, reliving the audition in her head a thousand more times to the point where she wasn't sure what had really happened and what had just been a product of her imagination. Every mistake she had made was etched violently into her memory, like a prisoner's mad carvings on the wall of his cell. The months went by with constant attempts to justify them or to reassure herself that no one had noticed. It may have been manic, but auditions had a tendency to do this to people; not all people, of course, but to people who wanted to win. Lumina was no exception. Once all was said and done, all it came down to was a simple answer of either Yes… or No.

Thus, that November, Lumina stood at 73 Chord, breathing the oppressive city air, her heart caught in her throat as she read the letter in her hands.

It was a resounding No.

# # #

"You'll _love _this place. Think of it as less of a bar, more of a clinic with a liquid bandage for _any _kind of ailment: physical, mental, or emotional!"

_Emotional. _That didn't even begin to describe her at the moment. She was _mental, _that was for sure. Why did she pick the Semiletov piece? Everyone _knows _you never audition with a favourite; you choose something nuanced but easy to play, something boring but safe that you could play with your eyes closed. Why hadn't she practiced more? Why had she worn that plain dress to the audition? Why had she drunk so much Relaxation Tea when clearly the caffeine had marred her technique? Why hadn't she spoken louder, instilled her voice with confidence, shown them she was really and truly ready to be part of the esteemed Grace Orchestra?

These factors and more were bearing down on the defeated girl as she followed Muffy listlessly through the city. The last of the wintery sunlight was fleeing , almost before their eyes; it was as eager to leave as Lumina was.

_We regret to inform you –_

No. Stop thinking about it.

- _Not currently accepting pianists of your level – _

Words. They're just _words. _Powerless!

_- Only consider a select minority out of the hundreds that audition –_

You are not about to let a piece of paper get the best of your emotional state.

- _Encouraged to attempt again at a later date – _

No no no. Words! _Nothing but!_

- _Best of luck in your future endeavors._

No, she was foolish to underestimate the power of words. People often did, taking words to be nothing but little catalysts used to trigger harmless, intangible ideas in our minds. To think that words were capable only of intangible results was erroneous; to think they were _harmless _was flat-out laughable. There was nothing intangible about the pain in her stomach, a pain that could have been caused just as effectively by a punch to the gut. To make her body react in such a way, to make her pain _physically tangible_ – it was foolish to think that words were any less dangerous than any weapon.

Words. Nothing but.

# # #

The city stretched out in all directions, like a vast sea beneath them. The streets glowed almost phosphorescently with the streaks of light darting through them, cars speeding along, coruscating. The two girls stood from their glass watchtower, like two birds perched on an oil rig overlooking this sea and its murky depths.

"I'm going to get anoth'r… drink," Muffy stated in a voice far too proud than it should have been, "C'n I get ya somethin', too?"

Lumina turned her eyes to Muffy's, the mulch-green eyes that too, reminded her of the sea. Tinges of red were creeping into the white of her eyes as inebriation set in.

"That's alright, Muffy."

"Naw, dolly! S'my job! Lemme go mix y'something."

"You don't work here."

"_You _don't work here!"

"… No, No I don't."

With an unwarranted look of triumph shot in Lumina's direction - as if Muffy had somehow won that argument - the blonde attempted to master her legs again and stalked off in the direction of the bar.

This was entirely her element, Lumina realized. Muffy had brought the two of them back to an old favourite of hers, from her days living in the city. A relatively upscale lounge belonging to a well-off hotel, the _'Pearl Moon', _as it was called, was on the seventh floor of the towering building. The interior decorator had apparently gone into the project with the words 'black' and 'sleek' in mind, as everything from the seating to the walls were a shade of red or purple, and the lighting so violently dark that one might forget colour existed at all. All the surfaces were made of cold glass, save for the white marble of the countertops at the bar – such a stark contrast, they almost seemed to glow, like they had been hewn from slabs of the moon itself.

The entire far side of the wall was paneled with glass windows, overlooking the city. It had made Lumina nauseous at first – or, it would have, if she still had a stomach that hadn't dropped out of her and into nonexistence since opening the letter.

Before alcohol had rendered her incapable of intelligent conversation, Muffy had explained that she had spent a brief stint working in this very bar, moving from a _Pearl Moon _patron to a regular and then to an employee – yet she got noticeably murkier about the details when it came to the point in the story where she regressed from employee to patron.

The bar had attracted mainly businesspeople and often those of neighboring cities, appearing in their white button-ups and their charcoal-coloured suits, and Lumina had a hard time imagining the vivacious Muffy entertaining a group of stony-faced highbrows. There was no one here who would sing along with her like Gustafa, who would demand drinking contests like Rock, or whose laugh would shake the very earth around them like Vesta's. No, somehow the quiet burg of Forget-Me-Not seemed to contain more life in its veins than this aggregation of the elite, and it became shockingly clear that, try as she might, Muffy was out of place.

The words 'Muffy' and 'out of place' were still lingering in Lumina's mind when she heard a girlish shriek and the sound of shattering glass. She left her train of thought for the moment and squeezed her way in between tables and suited bodies before appearing at the scene.

Sprawled on the ground with a look of utter shock on her face was Muffy, surrounded by tiny shards of glass that were only visible in the glow of the countertops. She had tried to force her way behind the bar, from the looks of it.

The current barmaid, a busty blonde herself, wore a look of faint irritation, subdued by what seemed like a familiarity for the situation before her. She had pearly white skin and, though a blonde herself, her hair seemed to err on the whiter side of blonde, as opposed to the yellow tone Muffy's had. In fact, sitting in the gaze of this other woman, Muffy's hair looked like running mustard.

"What happened?" Lumina knelt down to pick her friend up, careful to avoid the specks of broken glass.

"Was just gettin' us a drink, Lumi. Y'didn't have to get up! Go si' down!"

The barmaid gave Muffy an exasperated shake of the head and turned on her heels, her platinum ponytail swinging behind her as a male bartender appeared with a broom.

"I think you're supposed to _order _those, dear." Lumina told her gently, helping her to her feet. The girl who was so poised in her heels earlier that day could now barely put one foot ahead of the other.

"Believe me, thass' not how it _used _t'be, Lumes. Back – _Back _then y'didn't have to order nuffin', just waltz in an' – an' help y'rshelf. Times change. Everythin' changes. Everythin' _stinks._"

"Yes, Muffy, but in _those _times of yore, you actually _worked_ here." Lumina said patiently, following Muffy back to their corner, "That makes a slight difference, I think."

"Who cares! Everythin' stinks now!"

Muffy's loud, drunken tirade drew the ire of numerous patrons as they passed. Lumina offered them fleeting looks of apology, noting once again how different the _Pearl Moon _was from the preferred pub of the Forget-Me-Not hamlet. Being loud, boisterous, and insatiably _drunk _was not only welcome at the Blue Bar – it was encouraged. Here, where the noise barely grew above a faint hum, Muffy may as well have been a stampeding elephant let loose.

A woman with a sharp nose and bags under her eyes pursed her thin lips into nonexistence, and her friend gave a mighty eyeroll. Three businessmen sat around a table, the haze from their discarded cigarette butts hanging over the centered ash tray; they looked up at Muffy, their thick eyebrows raising slightly, the tiniest of lumps appearing in their throats as they looked her over. Lumina scowled at them, and they returned their gazes to their bottles, guiltily staring into them as if they had been caught by their own wives. One man in particular was especially flustered – his eyes clenching shut nervously behind his thick, square glasses, and his head of black, shiny hair bowed low.

"At least they have the decency to be ashamed," huffed Lumina as she and Muffy retook their seats by the towering glass pane of the window, "Not like Rock back home, right?" She tittered, thinking of the blonde player's usual antics.

"Shitty– _City _p-people are like that. All puttin' up fronts an' hidin' an' k-keepin' secrets." Even while complaining, there was a part of Muffy's tirade that sounded wistful and romantic. It was not unlike the tone of voice she often used when speaking of her less-than-respectful lovers.

"What kind of secrets?" Lumina thought she might as well humor the girl.

"I dun_no…_" Muffy held her head in concentration, brushing her locks out of her eyes, "Everyone's keepin' secrets. Y'never know what someone 'round here wants. _Who _they want."'

The city acted like a shield: a bastion for those who guarded risky secrets. Lumina placed her hand gently over Muffy's, and Muffy lifted her head only to reveal sparkling eyes, reflecting the cityscape from beyond the window.

Her makeup sparkled up and down her face, golden bursts of stardust against milky skin, and in moments it looked like the entire cosmos had been transcribed on her gentle features.

# # #

Horses raced across the staticky screen, the great beasts galloping with might to the ends of their respective lanes. A loud and obnoxious announcer called out names and positions and numbers and a crowd of predominantly male voices cried out either in cheer or in chagrin, none could tell.

Muffy and Lumina lay under the twisted covers of the hotel bed, their upper bodies pressed together by the shoulders, their respective hairbands abandoned and their hair set loose and free. They sought comfort in each others' closeness, something that Lumina was absolutely foreign to, but did not reject. Her sleepovers were Mary were certainly nothing like this.

"The city's not so bad, is it?" Muffy asked, staring ahead, a slight quaver in her voice. The question seemed almost rhetorical, but she replied anyway.

"It's lovely."

Muffy relaxed, the obvious tension in her shoulders dissipating. "I know."

Lumina was beginning to suspect that Muffy's ceaseless accolades for the city may have been an attempt at convincing herself, and not the friend she had dragged into its depths.

"Drink some more tea," Lumina suggested, pleased with the effects of the Relaxation Tea thus far – it was a known anti-intoxicant, as Sebastian had once told her with a bemused chuckle. Muffy obliged and took a sip from Lumina's flask.

"It's so warm," she said, holding it tightly with both hands like a child.

The races were coming to an end as the 11 o'clock news began to air. Global news, economics, politics, and local stories all began to run, and Lumina felt like each story ended before it truly began. It was almost overwhelming, the amount of information packed into these short segments, and it served to remind her just how much of the world there was beyond Forget-Me-Not. Everyone back in the Valley, however, couldn't be bothered with matters outside of their own personal affairs. It was one of the charms of living in a mostly secluded commune, deep in the countryside, cut off from most of the modern world…

"You're crying," Muffy remarked unabashedly, her eyes no longer on the TV.

"Homesick. Or something." Lumina replied automatically, touching her fingers to her face, surprised to find that Muffy was right. She had hardly felt them.

"Bull," The blonde lifted herself up, adjusting her nightgown as she did so, and turned to face the younger girl fully. "You haven't said a word since you opened the letter. If it was bad news, you should at least _talk _about it."

"I don't want to –"

"- Bother me?" Muffy challenged, "Listen, lady: How many times have I come to you with boy problems? How many times have you lent me an ear, and let me talk it right off? This is just how things work between us, 'kay?

Lumina couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, thinking of all the times she had tuned the talkative barmaid out or offered some half-hearted advice to satiate her. "Muffy, it wasn't exactly boy troubles," she said honestly – for if nothing else, Muffy deserved honesty in exchange for her loyalty, Lumina decided.

"It… wasn't?" scratching her cheek, Muffy seemed genuinely dumbfounded. "What _is _it then, that's got you more sour than one of Griffin's Stone Oils?"

The words burned like bile in the back of Lumina's throat, and so she spat them out as quickly as possible. "I auditioned for a place in the Grace Orchestra, set my heart on it, worked tirelessly towards that one goal, only to fail. They rejected me, and that's what was in the letter."

'_It gives me something to live for,' _she could hear herself saying, only days ago, face pressed against the counter at the Blue Bar.

_That _made a lot more sense to the young woman. "…I'm sorry, sugar. I really, really am." There was a sincerity in her voice that Lumina had not expected – a small part of her hadn't expected Muffy to understand at all. And maybe she didn't, entirely, but if there was something Muffy did understand, it was human emotions. She had a rare and special knack for empathy.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly."

"Babe, you're not doing yourself any favours by bottling it up like that."

"I'm… not bottling anything," The brunette shifted, uncomfortable in the barmaid's unflinching gaze, "There's just not much I can _do_."

"You could cry." Muffy reached over for the box of tissues on the end table and plopped it in front of Lumina.

"I've got that covered, apparently," she responded with a wry smile, gesturing to her soaked cheeks.

"I mean _really _cry. Let it out. _Own _your emotions." The older girl furrowed her eyebrows, looking deadly serious. "You've gotta, every once in a while, you know? It's not a bad thing, Lumi."

Lumina was silent for several moments, still avoiding Muffy's gaze. "There's always next year. I just… I need to practice more. I'll ask Sebastian to find me a proper tutor, or maybe sign up for lessons in the city. That's what I should be focusing on. Crying won't help me, as a pianist."

"But it _will _help you as an effin' human being, which is _sorta_ important too." She rolled her eyes – prettily, somehow – and inched closer to Lumina. "You wouldn't even touch a single drink downstairs! If I wasn't going to get emotions out of you _that _way, I'll pull them out now. Like teeth, if I have to."

She slumped lower into the bed, staring wistfully at the television set without taking in any of the information flashing across it (something about a car accident on some street that looked grey and dismal on the screen). "Aunty always said that crying was a waste of fluids and of time. Time that could be spent bettering yourself." As the words came out, so too did more tears.

Muffy rolled her eyes again, but Lumina did not catch her this time. "_My_ mama always said… that even if crying made you weak, it was important to have someone to be weak _with._ If you can't avoid those moments of weakness, be with someone who makes you feel stronger. If you can really cry with someone… isn't that the most special thing?" Her words, her memories, and her lingering inebriation made her eyes glassy with tears, too.

"I suppose that's… what a mother _would _say." Lumina said under her breath.

Sitting up again, back straight against the headboard, Muffy flattened out the blanket over her lap, and pat it several times enthusiastically. "C'mon, chickadee."

Lumina looked at her inquisitively.

"Put your head down. … Now, dammit!"

The younger girl did as she was told. "… S'warm."

"Now let it all out."

"…Excuse me?"

Muffy answered with a light stroke of Lumina's hair, curling the brown strands behind her small ears. "Let it all out. Cry for me. Let me be _your _Mama."

"Muffy, that's ridiculous—" But Lumina's body was more interested in listening to Muffy than her mind was, and her eyes betrayed her. They sat in silence, the television set buzzing with indistinguishable noise, as tears cascaded down her cheeks and into Muffy's lap.

"There's a good girl. C'mon. Don't stop now." Muffy continued to croon, her warm hands raking her hair.

Lumina could hear her aunt's disapproval ringing through her head, and she urged herself mentally to stop. But something – her heart, perhaps – tugged in the other direction, only making her heave and shake with emotion.

"That's right, that's right…"

"Muffy," Lumina sniffed loudly, her throat scratchy and dry and her eyes heavy, "…Sing for me."

"Shh, alright, chickadee, alright. Just let it _all_ out. Mama's here for you."


End file.
